


today sucks (period.)

by jesse (accio_belle)



Series: android boy learns about periods, more news at 6 [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (the joke is that this is a period fic), Adorable Connor, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Domestic Fluff, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Mentioned Tina Chen (Detroit: Become Human), Multi, Period-Typical Hormones, Platonic Cuddling, Reader has a cat, Reader-Insert, for the reader at least, he fuckin cooks for you I'm-, or is it? ;)), which appears to be all I can write these days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accio_belle/pseuds/jesse
Summary: “Detective, are you perhaps m—”That does it.“Connor, if you’re genuinely going to ask me if I’m menstruating right now, I’m going to punch you so hard.”
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Series: android boy learns about periods, more news at 6 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907944
Comments: 12
Kudos: 187





	today sucks (period.)

**Author's Note:**

> breaking news: android boy learns about periods, more at 6
> 
> “oh this is just going to be a little 600-800 word thing nbd”  
> *writes over 4.9k words*  
> “oh nvm”
> 
> before u get ur knickers in a twist, yes i wrote this entirely based on my own period experiences, they fucking SUCK bro i hate them so much. i tried to keep reader as gender-neutral as possible, considering i’m a dude who gets periods, fuck you [redacted author] you transphobe.
> 
> if your periods are as shitty as mine are, i hold ur hand in solidarity. and if you’re on your period while reading this, i hold ur other hand in solidarity. drink some water, get some rest, the pain will pass <3  
> (the “advil in yogurt” is actually something i do because i really can’t swallow pills, and it usually works! i tend to use tylenol tho cause that’s typically all we have in the house lmao. fair warning, it tastes fucking awful. try to have some water nearby, maybe some saltines or toast as well, and try to distract yourself with a youtube video or something fun. take a nap afterwards! <3)

If the morning you’ve been having is any indication, you know today is going to be a real shitty day. First, you nearly sleep through your regular alarm _and_ your backup alarm. Then your cat knocks your favorite mug off the counter, breaking the handle off entirely. Then the hot water in the shower is on the fritz _again_. Finally, you’re moments away from rushing off to work, when you feel an annoyingly familiar tightening in your lower abdomen. A quick stop in the bathroom confirms your suspicions.

Well. Great. At least you have tampons and Advil aplenty.

Things improve marginally once you finally get to work. Chris brought donuts, which you happily partake in. Gavin is slightly less of a dick than usual. The coffee machine is working properly today. The cramps seem like they’ll be manageable today for once, so you decide against taking an Advil.

You’re definitely regretting that decision by lunch, when the slightly annoying pain somehow transforms into what feels like someone taking a hold of your insides and squeezing it like a grape. You try to take an Advil, but it’s like your throat has closed up completely, leading you to spit the pill in the garbage and just drink a glass of water instead. The thought of food makes your stomach do a flip. The words on your tablet swim before your eyes. You can’t eat, you can’t focus, you can hardly move.

You’re resting your cheek on your desk, wondering if this is what dying feels like, when you hear someone say your name. “Everything alright with you, champ?”

You look up to see Tina standing by your desk, coffee mug in hand. She raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, just…” You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing a little as your insides tighten. “Riding that crimson tide, if you catch my drift.”

Her facial expression matches yours. “Ooh, shit. Advil?”

“Couldn’t swallow it.”

“My niece can’t either. She crushes hers and puts it in applesauce or yogurt. Says it works pretty well.”

“Might try that in a bit, thanks, Tina.”

“Anytime. Us folks are in this together, y’know?”

You smile as she walks back to her desk. Tina’s good people. She gets you.

After a few minutes of trying and failing to focus on any of your cases, you decide to head to the break room to see if some more water might help. As today’s luck would have it, you end up hunched over one of the break room tables, staring at your reflection in a cup and trying to barter with whatever deities you can think of, if only they’ll take this awful pain away.

Footsteps. You look up, trying not to let the pain show on your face. Connor stands in front of the break room door, head cocked slightly to the side. He’s not wearing his CyberLife uniform anymore; if Lieutenant Anderson is to be believed, Connor has amassed quite the closet of civilian clothes after the revolution. He’s wearing some “business casual” attire: a grey blazer over a white button-up, some grey slacks, and a neat pair of shoes. The LED on his temple spins yellow for a moment.

“Is everything alright, Detective?”

For some unknown reason, his question irritates you. It’s not like you dislike Connor at all; completely the opposite, actually. You’ve worked in close proximity to him in several cases after the revolution, and you admire his work ethic. Plus, his father/son dynamic with Lieutenant Anderson is unbelievably endearing. Connor’s one of the best detectives in the entire precinct.

“Hi, Connor,” is all you manage before the pain silences you.

“Your heart rate is elevated and you appear to be in extreme abdominal discomfort.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Oh boy, here come the mood swings.

His brow furrows. Right. Androids aren’t good at the whole sarcasm thing. You sigh, offering him a weak smile.

“I’m fine, Connor. Just feeling a little off. Might’ve been something I ate for lunch.”

He blinks. His LED spins yellow again. “But you didn’t eat lunch.”

How did he know?

Connor walks towards your table, his eyes trained on you. You know that look.

“I said I’m _fine_.”

“Detective, are you perhaps m—”

That does it.

“Connor, if you’re genuinely going to ask me if I’m menstruating right now, I’m going to punch you so hard.”

The android takes half a step back, hurt clear in his eyes. You groan, covering your face with your hands and dropping your forehead to the table with a dull thunk. Great, now you’ve insulted maybe the nicest person in the entire precinct. Stupid hormones.

“God—Connor—I’m sorry, I’m having an awful day. I just really waaaaa _aaaughohgodthatfuckinghurts—”_

Pain rips through your abdomen again, hot and pulsing. You double over, groaning, wrapping your arms around your stomach. God, it’s really getting to you this month. Maybe this is payback for working all those overtime hours.

“Detective?!”

Connor’s voice, uncharacteristically worried. His hand on your back. He’s close enough for you to hear the subtle whrrr of some biocomponent inside him. You look up, meeting his brown eyes. Words come out in a pained rush.

“Connor–take–me–home–please–I–can’t–take–this–anymore–”

Without a word, Connor loops an arm around your waist and helps you to your feet. He pushes you towards the door, murmuring something about _your car_ and _be there momentarily_. You stumble your way to the elevators and ride them down to the precinct parking lot. The short walk to your car feels like a marathon, with you pausing every few feet to ride out another wave of cramps.

Connor comes bursting out of the precinct moments after you’ve reached your car. He’s got your coat and your bag in his hands. You feel a wave of gratitude sweep over you as the android strides towards you, momentarily numbing the pain in your abdomen. He seems genuinely concerned for your wellbeing.

“I told Hank you were feeling unwell and that I would be escorting you home,” Connor says once he reaches you. He unlocks your car and carefully helps you inside, tossing your things in the backseat and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I didn’t give him any specifics; I didn’t think it was appropriate. He said he would inform Captain Fowler of your absence for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, closing your eyes against another rising tide of pain. “My place is a few blocks away, near the Matagot-Broker Memorial Park. Big grey building. Can’t miss it. _Drive fast please for the love of Gavin’s greasy-ass hair.”_

Connor glances over at you as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the streets. You’re a little too distracted by the unforgiving pain to notice his LED cycle yellow for several moments.

The short drive to your apartment is mostly silent, punctuated occasionally by your whimpers and groans. Connor parks in your usual spot (how did he know?) and herds you towards the elevator, keeping a firm arm around your waist the entire time. You lean against him on the ride up to your floor, trying to keep your breathing under control. The pain is getting so bad. Your stomach rolls unpleasantly.

The elevator doors open and you hand Connor your keys, leaning against the wall as he unlocks the door to your apartment. He’s quiet as he helps you to your bedroom, searching through your closet and handing you a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. Your cat meows at you from her sunny spot by the windowsill. Even with the pain, she can still make you smile.

“How can I help?” Connor asks, his voice gentle.

“Painkillers, as many as I can safely take. There should be a bottle of Advil in the cupboard above the sink.”

He turns to leave, but you grab his jacket sleeve to stop him. “I can’t swallow pills. You’re going to need to crush them and put them in something. Yogurt, maybe.”

He nods and heads for the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind him. You start undressing, moving slowly, and you’re completely changed (a fresh pad included) before Connor gets back with the Advil. You leave your work clothes in a heap on the bedroom floor. You crawl under the covers and curl up, knees to your chest, trying very hard not to cry. You cry anyways.

Connor returns moments later, a container of yogurt and a glass of water in hand, and sees you crushing a pillow to your face in an attempt to stem the tears. He sets them on the bedside table and doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. His touch is so, so gentle. It makes you cry harder.

“I–I’m sor–ry,” you sob, clinging to his arms like they’re a life preserver and you’re drowning in the Atlantic Ocean. “It–it hurts so ba–ad–”

“Shh. Breathe. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe through it. Just breathe. You can do it. I’ve got you.”

He inhales slowly, and exhales. And again. It takes you a moment to realize he’s trying to guide you through a breathing exercise. Trying to push the pain away, you mimic his slow inhales and exhales. It still takes several minutes before you’re calm enough to follow his lead, and several more minutes before you’ve relaxed completely. Connor loosens his hold on you, but he keeps an arm around your back.

“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore,” you mutter, laying a hand over your abdomen.

“Crying for long periods of time is a natural pain reliever,” Connor informs you, fetching the yogurt and water from your bedside table. “It releases oxytocin and endorphins in the brain, which relieve pain both emotionally and physically. Endorphins are endogenous painkillers, and oxytocin are one of the ‘feel safe’ hormones.” He makes little quotation marks with his fingers while he talks.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “No kidding?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Damn. That’s… really cool, actually.”

Connor sits with you while you eat. The Advil-laced yogurt tastes unbelievably awful, nearly making you gag several times, but the slight smile on Connor’s face every time you stick your tongue out makes it a little more bearable. He’s even brought a few saltines, which you greatly appreciate. Saltines fucking rule. He takes the dishes back to the kitchen once you’ve finished, then goes right back to sitting beside you. The press of his thigh against yours is a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“I think I might try to sleep it off for a bit,” you say. “That usually helps.”

Connor stands as you snuggle comfortably under the covers. His brow furrows slightly.

“May I try something?”

You shrug, the sheets rustling. “Go for it, bud.”

Connor removes his blazer and drapes it over the back of your desk chair. He kicks off his shoes too, and slips into bed behind you (!), tucking the covers around both of you (!!). He puts an arm around you, resting his hand gently on your abdomen (!!!). After a moment, the palm of his hand begins to heat up. It’s nothing terribly hot; in fact, it reminds you of a hot water bottle. It’s actually kind of comforting.

“Is this acceptable?” he whispers, his breath ruffling the hair by your ear. You hum an affirmation, leaning back against his chest. The pain is already beginning to dissipate a tiny bit.

“Just don’t overheat yourself, okay? I’ll be fine once the Advil kicks in.”

You hear him chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. It’s nice. Really, really nice.

Your cat hops up onto the bed beside you. She rubs her face on yours, then curls up by your stomach. Connor’s fingers trail through her fur for several moments before returning to their original position. You fall asleep just like that: Connor’s arm around you, a cat purring by your stomach, listening to the sounds of Detroit outside, and Connor humming a pretty melody.

* * *

You half-expect to wake up alone. But Connor’s still behind you, his hand still on your abdomen. That surprises you; after basically yelling at him at the precinct, and then being completely useless in your own apartment, you thought he would have left as soon as you fell asleep. But he’s still here. Your cat is gone, though, presumably having left to nap in another pool of sun.

You slowly roll over to face Connor, waiting for a twinge of pain in your guts. But nothing comes.

His eyes are closed, his face carefully neutral. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s just asleep. But androids don’t sleep, do they? They just… power off, or something. And don’t they need a proper recharging station? He sure looks like he’s asleep, though. Maybe Connor’s different because he’s a police android; maybe he can simulate sleep like a human in case he ever needed to go undercover. Yeah, that’s probably it.

You take several moments to study Connor’s face. Your eyes trail over his forehead, with that one stubborn curl of hair. His complexion is spotted with several moles and freckles, all of which contribute to his very human appearance. Well-kept eyebrows. Long eyelashes. A slight curve to the bridge of his nose. A faint flush of thirium beneath his skin. Soft-looking lips.

You reach up and tap him gently on the nose. His eyes open. Dark brown, with a ring of gold just around the pupil. Stunning.

“Good morning,” you murmur, and it might be your imagination, but do his eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief second?

“It’s three-twenty-six in the afternoon,” he replies, voice as quiet as yours, “but… good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Damn, you slept for nearly three hours? Normally you can only manage an hour or two. Maybe Connor’s presence helped more than you’d thought.

“I… I did,” you nod, “thank you. I feel a lot better now.”

Connor smiles softly. His hand lifts from your stomach and reaches up to your face, tucking a loose bit of hair behind your ear. The simple motion is so intimate, so personal, you nearly lose your breath. His fingers hover below your ear, tracing the line of your jaw down to your throat and the collar of your T-shirt. His eyes follow the movements of his fingers, then flicker back up to meet yours. Electricity sparks between the two of you. Time seems to stand still. All you can see is that ring of pure gold in his eyes.

You swallow. Connor blinks. And just like that, the moment is over, both of you moving away from each other like you’ve been struck by lightning.

“You should eat,” Connor says, sitting up. His voice betrays no emotion other than casual friendliness. “Something easy on the stomach.”

“I’m not that hungry, really.” The thought of him cooking for you, especially after whatever the hell just happened, makes you want to scream into a pillow for reasons you’re not quite sure of yet.

Right on cue, because your life is a damn sitcom, your stomach growls. Embarrassingly loud. You groan, covering your face with your hands. Connor laughs, leaning against the pillows, face tilted towards the ceiling. You realize now that in all the time you’ve spent working with him, you’ve never heard him genuinely laugh. Sure, he’s smiled along with the others when they poke fun at Gavin, but you’ve never been around to hear him laugh so freely. It sounds nice.

Something else hits you then. Connor’s _cute_.

Oh.

Oh, he’s _really_ cute. Oh no. Oh dear.

The realization makes you gasp before you can stop yourself. Perhaps a little too loudly, because Connor stops laughing and looks over, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” HE SOUNDS SO WORRIED IT’S SO CUTE HELP!!! “Has the pain returned?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” You panic, searching for a suitable explanation that doesn’t involve you admitting how cute you think he is. “Just… realized I think I left my computer logged in at work.”

“I could message Hank and ask him to check, if you’d like?”

This is where you die. Killed by Connor’s neverending sweetness.

“It’s alright, it’s no big deal. I could probably go back to work in an hour or so if I wanted.”

“Do you want to?”

“...not really.”

Connor smiles. Your heart skips a beat. “I didn’t think so.”

Your stomach growls again. Connor doesn’t laugh this time, but his smile does widen teasingly. You resist the urge to whack him with a pillow.

“I like eggs,” you say, “and toast. Everything should be in the kitchen.”

“Eggs,” Connor repeats, looking thoughtful. “Toast. I can do that.”

He slides out of your bed, rolling up his sleeves (?!?!?!!?!??!??!?!?!) as he heads towards your bedroom door. He opens it and pauses, glancing behind him at where you still sit in bed. A soft smile blooms across his face.

You can’t help it. You smile back, feeling your face heat up. His eyes widen a little, and thirium rushes to his face. How cute, he even blushes blue.

“Oh—” he says, and then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.

* * *

You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep for a short while when you register the smoky smell of something burning in your kitchen. You’re about to get out of bed and investigate, when the door opens and Connor pokes his head into your room. He looks sheepish.

“Someone—not me—appears to have burnt your eggs,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “And also the toast.”

You can’t help it; you start laughing.

“Connor, you’re the only other person in my apartment right now!”

He frowns, appearing insulted that you’d ever doubt his superior intelligence. “I’ll have you know the culprit was a rogue deviant who slipped into your apartment while my back was turned, sabotaged your food, and escaped before I could notice.”

His indignant accusations make you giggle even more, covering the lower half of your face with a pillow to smother your laughter.

“Oh really? And what was this rogue deviant wearing, hm?”

Connor flushes bright blue. _Holy shit he’s adorable._

“I didn’t notice,” he mumbles. Your grin threatens to split your face wide open.

You pull back the covers and slide your feet into a pair of slippers. “You wanna see if we can successfully make another batch of eggs without setting off the smoke alarm?”

“Are you—are you sure you don’t want to rest more?” Connor sounds worried, his eyes scanning your body up and down. He looks so concerned for your well-being. It’s really quite endearing.

“I might, in a bit. I’d love something to eat first.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the stove, where a pan of nearly-black eggs are smoldering slightly. “C’mon, I’ll show you my mom’s recipe.”

* * *

“I still can’t believe how badly you torched these eggs. I thought you were supposed to be Cyberlife’s most advanced model?”

“It wasn't me!” Connor insists, although his smile totally gives him away. He’s holding your smoking toaster out the window, a pair of oven mitts protecting his hands.

“Sure, sure.” You turn back to the pan, scraping the last bit of burned egg into the garbage. “Rogue deviant. You didn’t see a thing. How could I have already forgotten?”

“Precisely. I’ll have to open an investigation tomorrow when I return to the precinct.”

God, he is just too cute for words. Un-fucking-believable. God bless whatever CyberLife employee designed him. You have half a mind to write them a thank-you card. Or several. Maybe even send ‘em a Christmas card.

You snort, placing the used pan in the sink and grabbing another from a drawer beside the stove. “Well, let’s hope your ‘investigation’ is successful, Con. I’d really hate for there to be another terrible egg-and-toast-related incident in some other poor soul’s apartment.” You turn the burner on and drop a small pat of butter into the pan, moving it around with an expert touch.

Connor returns to your side, toaster in hand. His LED spins as he scans it. “I believe your toaster is still mostly functional,” he announces. “Though you may want to be careful when using it in the future. I’ve read that electrocution is not a pleasant experience.”

“Eh, it’s just a toaster. I can get a new one no problem, it was getting kind of old anyways.”

You grab a couple of eggs out of the fridge and crack them into a bowl, whisking them with one hand as you poke through the cupboards for salt and pepper.

“The trick is to whisk them before putting in the pan, because I will not have any whisking-in-the-pan heathens in my apartment.” You glance at Connor, who is watching your whisking hand with the look of someone who is afraid they’ll be tested on this after it’s done. “That’s a joke, by the way. If you prefer whisking in the pan, no big deal, I just prefer doing it in a bowl. Think you could get that block of cheddar from the fridge and grate a bit?”

Connor obeys without hesitation, slicing off a small hunk of cheddar cheese and grating it into another small bowl. You pour the eggs into the buttered pan and push them around with a spatula. As the eggs cook, you motion for Connor to add the cheese in small increments. Finally, just before turning the heat off, you sprinkle a little salt and pepper into the pan and move it to a back burner.

“The residual heat in the pan will finish cooking the eggs,” you explain, grabbing a plate from the cupboard. Connor nods, pausing from his egg examination to pick up your cat twining around his legs. She immediately smooshes her face against his cheek, purring like an engine. His surprised smile is nearly enough to make your heart explode. Which would be a terrible shame, because then you would be dead, and thus unable to continue watching Connor snuggle with your cat.

“I was unaware cats were this affectionate,” he remarks, scratching her behind the ears. Her eyes close in complete bliss. “I’ve never interacted with them much before now. Hank greatly prefers the company of dogs.”

“She’s a special case, this one. I rescued her from the streets a couple years ago. She was still a kitten then and she was being cornered by these two much bigger cats. I scared them off and brought her home, and she’s been here ever since. I think on some level she knows I saved her.” You smile fondly. “In some ways, she’s rescued me just as much as I rescued her.”

You reach out to stroke your cat’s head, your fingers brushing against Connor’s. She pushes against your hand. Her purring escalates until she’s nearly vibrating out of Connor’s arms. His eyes meet yours, and that strange electric charge from before rushes back in full force.

You clear your throat and step away, grabbing the pan from the stove and transferring the eggs to the plate. Now that they’re done, your appetite has mostly returned. Maybe having something to eat will distract you from whatever the hell is brewing between you and Connor every time you make eye contact for longer than three seconds.

“Today’s a special kinda day,” you say, looking over your shoulder at Connor. “Let’s go eat in bed, yeah?”

He follows you back to your bedroom, depositing your cat on her cat tree as he passes by. That lasts for all of two seconds before she hits him with her patented Please-Love-Me-I’m-So-Desperate-For-Affection Eyes (patent pending) and a plaintive mew, and he scoops her right back up. He looks at you with a carefully neutral expression, though the corners of his mouth are twitching.

“It would appear your cat has bewitched me,” he says. “Her affection is inescapable.”

“She’s the laziest mouse hunter in the world, but she sure knows how to catch a human. Or I guess an android, in your case.” You smile as Connor scratches your cat under her chin, and she rubs her face against his again. “Either way, it looks like you’re her second-favorite person now, so you’d better be visiting her pretty often, or she’ll miss you like crazy.”

He looks down at your cat (and lets out a very un-Connor squeak when she licks his nose) and back at you. His eyes are shining. “I can… come back?”

“Do you want to?”

His face softens; it makes him look almost human. “I would very much like to visit.”

“Then you can come back anytime!” You shift the plate of eggs to one hand and lay the other on Connor’s shoulder. It’s a little awkward, considering he’s nearly a head taller than you, but the sentiment is still there. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I like having my friends over.”

His smile widens. “Then I will be sure to visit as much as I can. Both you and the cat. I’ve found that I quite enjoy your company, perhaps even more than that of other people.”

Oh boy.

* * *

As you sit on your bed and enjoy your eggs, Connor lays on the floor and lets your cat crawl all over him. He doesn’t even mind getting cat hair on his shirt, explaining that _“Sumo sheds quite often as well, it’s nothing I’m not used to”_. He even helps wash the dishes, and if the two of you try to flick soapy water at each other while you’re not looking, then that’s simply your own business.

Afterwards, you decide to take a walk around Matagot-Broker Memorial Park. It’s a fairly pleasant evening, with a breeze gentle enough to keep you from getting too warm. Connor impresses you by reciting the Latin name of each different bird you come across, and nearly makes you bust a gut laughing when he tells you of the time he and Lieutenant Anderson were tracking down a deviant, and they found an apartment absolutely full of pigeons. You make a mental note to get him a bird-themed birthday card this year. It’ll be a riot.

The two of you return to your apartment and spend another half-hour laying on your bed, watching your cat chase dust bunnies. When the sun begins to set, Connor’s LED flashes. He squints for several moments, then turns to you.

“Hank is wondering when I will be returning home,” he informs you. “Do you wish for me to stay with you?”

“Connor, as much as I love your company, I think people will get the wrong idea if you stay the night.”

He blinks, confused. “Why?”

You know being vague will only confuse him more, so you decide to just be as straightforward as possible. Even if it’s a little embarrassing to explain the concept of “staying the night” to an android who only recently became a deviant.

“Because when a person spends the night at someone else’s apartment, it usually means they’ve slept together.”

“But is that not what we did earlier?”

 _For the love of God._ “I meant sex, Connor.”

His face glows blue, all the way to the tips of his ears. “O–oh!” He looks so flustered, and it’s so endearing, you can’t help but giggle a bit. You quickly change the subject before he overheats and shuts down or something.

“I’ll be alright on my own, I promise. I’ll see you bright and early at work tomorrow.”

Connor still looks unconvinced, but he grabs his blazer anyways. You walk him to your front door, your cat following, probably wondering why her new favorite human isn’t sticking around. He picks her up for one last scratch behind the ears. She licks his nose again, eliciting a laugh from both of you.

“Thank you for driving me home,” you say once he’s set your cat back on the floor. “And for trying to cook. And for…” You shrug, smiling. “Well, everything, really. You were a huge help today.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Before you can react, Connor leans down and brushes his lips across your forehead. His touch is light as a feather. Your heart stops for a split second, then pounds furiously in your chest.

He pulls back to look you in the eyes. He doesn’t seem at all bashful in this moment; rather, there’s an aura of confidence you don’t think you’ve ever seen in him outside a case. It’s intoxicating. You could swim forever in that ring of gold.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you.” His voice is low. A shiver runs through you. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, and he reaches up to brush another bit of hair away from your eyes. You can’t seem to catch your breath.

And then he’s gone.

You stand frozen by your door for several moments, trying to process what just happened. Then you run to your window and stick your head out, scanning the sidewalk below. It’s a couple of minutes before you see Connor exit the front doors of your apartment and walk away. Before he crosses the street, he turns and looks directly up at your window. His hand lifts in a wave. Not a goodbye, but a hello. A _“see you tomorrow”_.

You wave back. You’re already counting down the minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> big thankies 2 aspen for letting me ramble abt dbh and my extremely self-indulgent garbage fics in his dms <3 extra thankies for convincing me 2 eat canon for dinner and make connor an awful cook, i loved writing that bit so much <3
> 
> special thanks 2 my lovely boyfriend for always being there for me everytime my period shows up!! <3 your presence makes me feel so so so much better and i can’t wait until the day where i can die of period cramps in your bed instead of my own <3 i love you so so so much <3 he’s also the one who told me about the “crying is a natural pain reliever” thing after my cramps got so bad i burst into tears! my boyfriend the smarty-pants <3
> 
> p.s. props to those who catch the not-so-subtle skyjacks reference! i don’t listen personally but i have several friends who do :3


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